Forces of Nature
by et-spiritus-sancti
Summary: A short, two-part oneshot concerning how Daryl lost his wife during the beginnings of the apocalypse. Rated T for language, violence and intense scenes.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Greetings, all! This is my first Walking Dead oneshot fanfic that came to me during a sleepless night. I planned on just one installment but it turned out a bit longer than I planned. So it'll be a two-parter.

I've always found it fascinating that Daryl cares so much for the kids. His desperate search for Sophia and his attachment to Judith. It's always made me wonder if he had some kind of family beyond Merle before the outbreak. Here's my take on it. Hope you enjoy!

-Sancti

The Walking Dead - _Forces of Nature_

Car after car sped by on the other side of the road. Personal belongings—furniture, luggage and any other odd assortment of things protruded from and were lashed to all the vehicles. They sped down the highway so fast, Daryl couldn't even make out their faces, although he pictured they were smattered by some mixture of fear and horror. Daryl felt the same, but wouldn't allow it to show. A situation such as this brought forward the true nature of people. And Daryl knew from the start he was meant to be a survivor. Everything he'd done in his life seemed perfect preparation for this disaster. A lifetime of purposeless living and it finally became clear what he was created for. He was a precision, killing machine. Not a leader, mind you—he had no interest in being the shepherd to others. He was no soldier either. Taking orders from others had never been easy. He could count on one hand the number of people he cared about in this world. He intended to bring them all through this crisis unharmed. Daryl pressed down on the gas pedal at that thought. He had to get back to her.

It was a blistering hot day. Even as a native to the South, he found the heat of this day nearly unbearable. He had never owned a vehicle with air conditioning. It made him miss his motorcycle and he hoped Merle had been taking good care of it. Daryl had all the windows down in the old station wagon, but nothing compared to the blustering freedom of his bike. He shifted uncomfortably in the seat, his sweat having soaked into the material.

The cars continued in droves on the other side. Some honked at him—a warning of what he was already expecting as he sped in this direction. But he had to get to her. He would gather her, wait for Merle and they would flee. Daryl wanted to get to the sea. Find a boat and set sail for some remote island. A good place where they could wait for the end of this apocalypse. He'd told her all about his plan with utter confidence, even if in his gut he had none. But then, he wasn't a leader—just a survivor. He could kill, outrun these things for as long as it takes. Merle didn't seem to care what they did as long as he didn't go hungry and he had a chance to kill some of these bastards.

She worried him though. Daryl didn't feel he had her complete attention, or that she fully understood the seriousness of their situation. She would see soon enough once they got on the road.

Something up ahead caught his eye. He thought it was an animal at first. It only took him a moment more to realize it was one of them. He let off the gas pedal as the blur took shape. It wandered into the street, shuffling along an unknown path. The car came to a stop, giving himself plenty of room between him and the creature. The cars coming opposite swerved when they noticed it and continued on. Finally, it turned to face him. He swallowed thickly. It had been a young woman. A girl. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Her face was untarnished. She had been beautiful. A mangled hole where her midsection had been betrayed her. What was left of her intestines jiggled over her waist like mangled spaghetti. Daryl watched her carefully as she glared at his car, trying to figure out if she could eat it, he was sure. He watched her milky eyes glaze over, her nose twitch as she tested the air around her for fresh blood. He could tell when she caught his scent on the air. Whatever predator instincts she had switched on and she inched forward with interest, those sickly eyes finally concentrating on him. He let her get closer, noticing the excited jerks in her movement as she anticipated her easy meal.

"What luck!" Daryl imagined her thinking, if in fact there was any sort of thought process, "One of these things finally slowed down enough for me to eat—is this what we call fast food?"

Daryl chuckled mirthlessly at his own joke. "Fast food," He sighed as she picked up speed, reaching the front of his car. She stumbled against it, flopping onto the hood. She wheezed and grunted, clawing frantically at the windshield. She hadn't figured out yet that all the windows were open.

Daryl stared, almost amused at her pathetic efforts. "I'm so hungry," he mimicked her voice out loud, "You look so tasty and I wanna to chew on you so bad." He gradually reached for his crossbow in the passenger seat, checking the rigidity of the arrow already loaded, "I haven't eaten in about _twenty_ minutes, I'll starve to death!" She was trying to gnaw on the windshield, her teeth scraping against the glass. Some of her teeth broke in the process. She let out little squeals of pain as the teeth snapped off and clattered down to the wipers. Daryl watched with annoyance as rotting entrails smeared on the window.

"Yeah, you're hungry, aren't ya?" Daryl said in his own voice. He brought the crossbow out the window and aimed it at her head. She noticed the fresh meat of his arm and released a garbled cry as she dove for it. Daryl pressed the trigger and the arrow plunged effortless into her forehead with a dull "thunk." Her writhing body collapsed on his hood—silent and still.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you it all goes right to your hips?" The mixture of blood and viscera was slick and caused her body to slide down the hood, a squeak of the metal the only reply.

"I guess not." Daryl murmured. He got out of the old car and plucked the arrow from her head, the crunching, sucking sound of her brains and broken skull protesting. He came to the other side of the car and in one movement pulled her off and threw her body into the muddy ditch beside the road. He wiped the arrow in the grass to get the chunks off before returning to the car. He slammed the door shut and sighed staring at the smeared, rotting pieces she had left behind on his window. Cursing, Daryl grabbed a rag off the floor of the car and stepped back out to wipe the windshield down as best he could. He was able to get most of the offensive material off but it would take a good rain to get the window clean again.

Daryl continued the drive home. The amount of other cars had dissipated and a few were even stranded on the road. He didn't have to look to know what lay inside those cars. Late afternoon was approaching and the heat was reaching its peak for the day. He just had to get to her. She gave him reason. Strength. His only reason to fight.

He passed familiar sights. Houses of people he knew. Trailer parks he used to live in. He'd traveled down this road countless times, yet it seemed brand new. Unpredictable. He knew ever curve and hill, yet he found himself holding his breath in case something gruesome appeared on the other side. He pushed these fears aside. He had to be strong for her. And he didn't need Merle calling him a panty-twisted pussy or any of his other colorful nicknames. He made a series of turns that brought him to a rough road littered in potholes. The houses around here were small, old country homes spread far apart. Most of them were in disrepair. But Daryl could not have been prouder when he brought her to their new home. It was something he'd worked hard for. He wasn't going to raise his family in a house on wheels. He finally reached the familiar gravel driveway. The wooden mailbox was a bit askew and needed to be reinforced, but Daryl took some pride in the painted name, "Dixon" on its side. He felt a pang of sadness knowing he was taking them away from this place. But it was the only way.

Daryl pulled into the drive, the rocks crunching under his tires. The grass was starting to overgrow. But keeping the lawn mowed was the least of their problems. Soon, it wouldn't matter, because they would be far from it. The garden was still thriving with daisies and vines of morning glories wrapped themselves about the porch, their large, dark purple flowers open to the world, unafraid and unaware of all its horrors. The house was a small two story with a fresh coat of yellow paint he had put on at the beginning of Summer. Before the outbreak. White shutters adorned each window. One wouldn't suspect anything wrong with the world looking at this place, until they noticed the wood boards nailed to all the first story windows. Daryl turned the car off, grabbed his cross bow and slung it over his back. He retrieved the treasured bags of food and supplies from the back seat and made his way to his home. As he came up onto the porch, he could hear scratching on the other side of the front door accompanied by persistent whines.

"Yeah, yeah, Buck, I hear ya." With a free hand, Daryl swung open the storm door, propping it open with his foot and and jammed the house key into the lock. Letting himself in, he was immediately greeting by the excited whimpers and whines of their German Shepherd who bounced off his large front feet in the hopes of getting a pat on the head. Once Daryl secured the door and its deadbolt, he acknowledged the canine, patting his side firmly.

"Hey boy. Good boy, good boy, Buck." The dog's tail wagged rapidly in response and his nails clacked on the hard wood floor as he followed his master into the kitchen. Daryl set the bags on the little kitchen table and the keys down with a clatter. Normally he would holler for her, but these days you had to maneuver quietly. They were attracted to noise.

He clomped up the stairs, Buck at his heels. "Gina?"

No response. He peaked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs, which was in disarray. All the drawers and cabinet doors were open and various toiletries were scattered on the counter and some had fallen to the floor. He wasn't alarmed by this. He'd told her to pack quickly.

"Gina?" He called again. Their bedroom was at the end of the hall and he made straight for it. Buck went ahead of him into the room, Daryl close behind. The room was flooded with the hot afternoon light, as he did not board the upstairs windows. The lace curtains blew gently away from the open window. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her on the edge of the bed. Suitcases were laid open on the bed, clothes stuffed in them and strewn about the room. Her shoulders were hunched over as he came around to face her. Her long black hair hid her face.

"Gina, what are you doin', I told you to get our things together. We're leavin' as soon as Merle gets here." Her body shuddered and she brought a hand up to push her hair behind her ear. Then he saw her face, wet with tears, her blue eyes glistening and red. A hand on her swollen, pregnant belly. She sniffed, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

Daryl heaved a sigh. "Christ, baby, you can cry in the car, but we've got to get this shit together."

She hiccupped a little sob. Her hand went to his and he grasped it. He always marveled at how small it felt in his own. He was afraid one day he would crush it. "Daryl, I—" Her voice caught, "I don't think I can do it."

He knew what she meant. But they couldn't let it stop them. He knelt down in front of her, still holding on to her and put his other hand on her belly. "Baby, we've been through this. It's too dangerous to stay. It's bad out there. There's talk of a herd comin' this way. We have to move on before they get here."

She shook her head emphatically. "We don't know that for sure. They might not even come close to us."

He dipped his head in impatience. "Gina, I had to go pretty damn far to get some food. All the stores around here have been cleaned out. If we're goin' to survive, we need to be on the move."

His wife snatched her hand from his and he blinked in surprise. She fixed him with a hard stare. She was angry. "I don't want to leave. I don't want to have this baby on the road. We have enough food to last a while. Certainly long enough until they get this under control."

Daryl tightened his hands into fists. He was torn. He needed her to realize how serious this was. It couldn't be a matter of hiding out until the cavalry comes riding in. But he also wanted to protect her. Scaring her with the gory details wasn't going to help anything. He still remembered what the doctor told them at their last appointment, before all this started. It was his job as husband and dad to keep her calm and happy now that they were reaching the end of the pregnancy. They didn't want her going into pre-mature labor. Damn the universe and its incredible timing to start an apocalypse.

He tried to keep his voice calm and controlled. "Gina, there is no 'they.' As far as anybody can tell, there is no more military, or government. We're on our own."

Gina looked away from him and gazed at the crib against the wall. Daryl had constructed it himself. She had sewn the quilt hanging over the banister. It had soft patches with little bumblebees and butterflies. "Can't we give it a try? Just until the baby's born?"

Daryl stood and leaned against the windowsill, the afternoon sun hot on his back. "We might not last that long."

She pursed her lips in disappointment. She was in denial. She then shrugged her slender shoulders and looked away from him. "I guess you'll have to go without me."

Daryl scoffed and pushed himself from the window, throwing his arms into the air. "Don't be an idiot, Gina, I'm not leavin' you anywhere."

"Don't call me an idiot, Daryl."

"Well, stop bein' one!"

She didn't say anything and instead her face contorted in pain. She let out a little gasp and lowered her head, both her hands on her belly again. Immediately Daryl was at her side.

"You alright? What's wrong?"

She moaned a little. "Nothing, I'm fine. He just really started kickin'." She sighed warily, "I don't think he likes the yellin'."

Daryl couldn't help but smirk as he put a hand gently on her belly. Sure enough, he could feel some modest thumps. He grinned as he looked up at his wife. "Well, look at that. Our son's a little ass-kicker."

Gina laughed gently, rubbing her belly as the kicking subsided. "Just like his daddy." She then slid the back of her fingers over his cheek. "I love you, Daryl."

He closed his eyes and relished in the soft skin of her hand. "I love you, too, baby."

She dropped her hand and struggled to her feet, Daryl grabbed her elbow to help her stand. She waddled over to the suitcases and picked up one of the little onsies for the baby. Daryl glanced out the window. Merle was late. He silently cursed his older brother. What the hell was he doing? Or perhaps he was in trouble, although Daryl knew his brother was as much of a fighter as he was. Phones didn't work anymore. He would have to go over there and get him. Daryl adjusted the strap of his crossbow.

"We're gonna have to get Merle. He should be here by now," He motioned to the suitcases, "We'll finish these up then leave."

Gina shrugged as she folded up the little blue onsie. "I told you, I'm not leavin'."

Daryl felt his chest puff up in anger and he tried to control it. Dixon boys were never too skilled at controlling anger. "Damn it, Gina, that's _enough_!" She took a step back from him. Was she frightened of him? Daryl didn't dwell on it much, as his rant was far from over, "Now, I'm the man of this house and I'm tellin' ya what we're gonna do and you're gonna damn-well _do_ it!"

Daryl hated the way she looked at him. Like he was a mad dog at the end of his chain. In the time they had been together, she never looked at him like that. But then he had never yelled at her in such a way either. Daryl almost regretted it. But this wasn't about hurting her feelings. This was about survival—a subject he was an expert in. If it took a little yelling to make his wife and unborn child safe, he would do just that. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Feeling the anger simmer, he put his arms out to hold her. She backed away again, clutching the onsie to her chest. He dropped his arms, not too surprised by her reaction.

"Just—please, baby, just get the bags packed. I'll be back in fifteen minutes with Merle. We'll talk more then, okay?"

She nodded silently, her grasp on the onsie relaxed a little. "Okay."

Even though he knew she wanted nothing to do with him, he closed the space between them and cupped her cheek with a hand. He leaned in and kissed her lips gently. She didn't push him away, but she was rigid. That was alright. He knew he deserved it. He stared into her eyes, blue as the ocean he was determined to get them to, "Everything will be okay, Gina," He whispered, "I'll keep you safe, I promise."

The tension in her eyes relaxed a little and she nodded. "I know you will."

He smiled reassuringly. "You got your shotgun?"

She nodded at the dresser against the wall where one of his shotguns rested on an old, yellowed lace doily. "Right there. It's loaded."

"Good girl. I'll be back soon."

He was in the doorway when Buck scrambled up after him. "Daryl, could you let Buck out before you go?"

Daryl scratched the dog's head. He had a bad feeling about Merle. He didn't want to delay getting to his brother. "He'll be okay until I get back. Love you, baby."

"Love you, too." He heard her say as he quickly descended the stairs.

A/N: I will have Part II up in a few days. Thank you for reading and let me know if I should continue with the conclusion!

-Sancti


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

Daryl could strangle his brother. Unreliable piece of shit. Daryl sighed as he slid his crossbow off his back and tossed it into the passenger seat. Sunset would be upon them soon. Daryl wanted to be on the road before dark. The engine turned over with a groan and the station wagon came to life. He threw it in reverse and backed out of the driveway without checking the street first. There wouldn't be anyone there.

Dust billowed behind his car as he sped down the road. His brother's house, or shack is more like it, wasn't far. It was the house they grew up in. Pop had died several years ago and Merle wasted no time moving into the old place. Daryl fiddled with the radio stations, as he did every time he got into the car. All he ever got back was static. Some time ago he was able to pick up a broadcast from a group who hadn't yet made it to Atlanta and they were giving daily reports of the area. But he hadn't heard any transmissions from them for days. He angrily switched the radio off. Humanity was quickly losing this battle.

Daryl wasted no time getting to the house. What usually took him ten minutes to get there took five. Who gave a shit about speed limits anymore? It was a long dirt driveway. A dilapidated two story house was at the end of it. Daryl hated the place. Its white paint peeled from every surface of the house. Shutters were missing or hanging by a nail. The roof was falling apart. Not to mention it was infested with bad memories. Daryl wished he could just put a match to it.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to the door. It was wide open. Then he noticed them. Bodies littered all around the yard. Their heads either blown off or mangled beyond recognition.

"Shit." He breathed. When he got closer he slammed on the breaks. Grabbing his crossbow he jumped out of the car and hurried up to the porch. It creaked under his boots as he tried to stealthily enter the house. He had the crossbow up and ready as he went through the threshold. It was its usual mess. Dust and dirt and torn apart.

"Merle!" He whispered and listened for the tell-tale shuffling of the dead. Nothing. He took a deep breath and turned the corner to enter the living room. And there he was. Daryl exhaled and lowered the crossbow.

"Goddammit, Merle."

His brother sat in an armchair by the hearth. He was surrounded by empty bottles. A bloody ax leaned up against the chair. A shotgun was in his lap. A whisky bottle rested in his hand. Merle looked up at him with lazy, drunken eyes. A half smile creased his face in recognition and he raised the whisky bottle.

"Darrryl! Hah, you ol' son-ofa-bitch," He motioned to the ripped up couch beside him. "Take a seat there, lil' brother. Join me for a drink."

Daryl stomped into the room and right up to his brother. Without hesitation he knocked the bottle out of his hand. It hit the floor and shattered, but hardly any liquid spilled. Merle had drunk most of it.

He put up his hands in defense. "Heyyyy, lil' brother, you need to calm down."

"What the _hell_, Merle? You're supposed to be packed and at my house! You're sittin' here drunk as a shit. And what the hell happened out there?" Daryl pointed out the window where one could see the bodies splayed out in the yard. Their blood glistened in the setting sun.

Merle unsteadily followed his brother's direction and stared out the window. "Ohh, yeah. Had myself a lil' party." He chuckled, "I don' think anybody'll come to the next one."

Daryl secured his crossbow and started going around the house gathering clothes. He found a bag in Merle's bedroom upstairs and stuffed it with any linen he laid his eyes on. He spotted an old pair of shoes that belonged to Pop and tossed those in the bag too. He went downstairs quickly. Merle was still in the chair and had his hand in the shape of a pistol pointed at the window. He had one eye closed and was making little "pow, pow" noises. Daryl continued his search on the first floor for anything useful.

"You shoulda been there, Daryl," His brother called from the living room. Daryl was going through all the cabinets in the kitchen looking for anything nonperishable, "They came stumblin' outta the woods and thought they was just gonna squat in my yard like a buncha undead hippies," He heard him spit, "Pussies."

Daryl came back into the living room and tossed the bag at his brother. He let out a grunt when it landed in his lap. "How long ago did it happen?"

"Oh, I dunno, coupla hours ago."

"You used the shotgun?"

"Well, yeah, it works pretty damn well."

Daryl grasped his brother's arm and pulled him up. "That means they'll be comin'. Hold on to your gun, now."

His brother stumbled and Daryl had to hold him up as they left the house. Daryl took the bag and hurled it into the backseat, then pushed his brother into the passenger side. Merle settled into the seat and whistled, rubbing his stomach. "Oooh, boy, I sure hope your woman has somethin' on the stove. All that killin' worked me up an appetite."

Daryl ignored his brother and turned the car around, speeding down the driveway. He briefly looked at the house in the rearview mirror, and took a moment to hope he'd never have to see the place again. Lightning bugs were starting to come out as dusk approached. Daryl inwardly cursed. He didn't like Gina home alone this time of day. This was when they were most active.

Merle examined his shotgun, running a hand along its length like he was stroking a woman's body. "Sooo, you still thinkin' 'bout a sailboat, eh?"

Daryl shrugged. "That's the goal anyway."

Merle gave his brother a sidelong glance. "And you think you're gonna get there with a screamin' baby in tow?"

He concentrated on the road in front of him. He didn't need to see his brother's sneering face. "She still has a few weeks. I'm hopin' to get to shore before she gives birth."

"And if not?"

"Then we'll deal with it."

Merle grunted in response, then spat out the window. Daryl knew there was definitely a risk of Gina having the baby on the road. Particularly with all the stress she was under. But it was a risk they were going to have to take. They couldn't stay here.

"Lord, I'm gonna hurt in the mornin'." Merle massaged his forehead.

Daryl rolled his eyes. "That's cause you're not twenty anymore, dumbass. And you better start soberin' up. Gina won't let you in the house stumblin' round like an idiot."

Merle chuckled as he glanced out the window, watching the scenery speed by in a blur. "That woman needs to lighten up a lil' bit. It's the end of the world, lil' brother. Ya'll will depress yourselves to death if ya not careful."

Daryl ignored him. He was obnoxious enough sober. With alcohol, he was just about unbearable. But they were brothers. And they would see each other through the best and worst of times. He knew no matter what happened, his brother had his back. Best of all, they weren't afraid to point out the stupidity in their decisions.

"Merle," He hesitated at first, then gave in, "you don't think it's a dumbass idea, do ya? Findin' an island? Hide out till it's all over?"

Merle was silent for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts in his whiskey-riddled brain. "See, this is where we differ, lil' brother. I don't believe there's some bastard in a white coat sittin' in a hole somewhere figurin' out some cure. This is it. This is our rapture. We can run and shoot as many of those moanin' sons-a-bitches as we can, but in the end, what's left? A few hundred poor souls with a whole world to themselves? Well, those sorry folks won't be able to find each other and they'll die off and that'll be it. Man is extinct." Such a speech took a lot out of him and he leaned his head back, offering no more on the subject.

In his heart, Daryl was certain his brother was right. They were alone in this world. An endangered species. What sort of future did his kid have? _If_ his plan even worked? Daryl shook the thoughts away as the car approached his home. He pulled into the driveway, and his foot slipped from the gas pedal. The car slowed against the gravel as the brothers took in the sight of the wide-open front door. In the fast approaching dark of the evening, one might assume the stains on the door frame were dirt. But they both knew it was smeared blood. Daryl stared for only a second more before grabbing his crossbow and jumping out of the car. Merle was close behind.

"I'll check the yard." Merle tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkness. Daryl hardly registered his brother's words as he climbed up onto the porch. The lights were off. The wooden boards creaked under his feet as he stepped carefully over the threshold. His crossbow raised, Daryl aimed into the foyer. His eyes adjusted at a frustratingly slow rate to the dark, and finally he was drawn to the figure on the floor. He sucked in a breath, tainted with the smell of blood.

"No." It came out a strangled plea as the crossbow suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and his arms dropped. The weapon clattered to the floor as Daryl approached her. He fell to his knees next to her body, and immediately he felt wetness soak through his jeans.

"No, no, no, no, no, baby—" He put his hands on either side of her face, which was still warm. Her body gave a start at his touch and a moan broke her lips apart. It wasn't the dry, rattled moan of the dead. It was still his wife.

"Gina? Gina, baby, do you hear me? Come on, say something'." He brushed wet, sticky hair out of her face, his hand traveling to the swell of her belly. Beneath her sundress, he could feel his son kicking. But not the gentle, curious kicks he was used to. He struck at the inside of his enclosure like he wanted out—like something was after him. Daryl pulled his hand away when he felt another fierce thump. Her whole body then stiffened and she wheezed painfully as she tried to inhale.

"Daryl," She croaked, her hand found his and she squeezed it like a lifeline. "Daryl, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, shh, shh, darlin'. Where did it get ya?"

Shakily, she moved his hand to her shoulder, which was warm and wet. Though he couldn't see the wound, he could feel the deep gashes where chunks of her shoulder were missing. He swallowed back a lump in his throat.

"Alright. Okay, we'll just—we'll get you up to bed, and I'll get a good look at it."

Her hands grabbed at the front of his shirt. "Daryl, it's no use—"

"I said I'll take a look," He growled, "It—it might not be so bad." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

Suddenly a creak in the floorboards could be heard from behind them. Daryl whipped around and stood up, his dagger unsheathed. He relaxed when he saw his brother standing in the threshold, shotgun in hands. What was left of the sun, low on the horizon, allowed him to make out the features on Merle's face. His expression was a mix of sympathy and cold determination. He stared right past Daryl and focused on the ugly, marred shoulder of his sister-in-law.

"Merle. Merle, help me get her upstairs."

It was like he didn't hear him, and Daryl could see the subtle movement of his hands tightening the grip on his shotgun.

"Merle!" He risked shouting. Gina's body shook and she whimpered. It was enough to distract Merle from his trance and he glared at his brother, jaw set.

"Lock the door, man," He said with a softer tone, motioning to the door, "Help me get her upstairs."

Merle complied without a word. He placed the shotgun against the wall before locking the door securely and taking a gentle hold of Gina's legs, he helped Daryl pick her up to cradle in his arms. Merle went up the stairs ahead of them as Daryl carefully ascended the staircase. All the while, she protested weakly. Once they reached the bedroom, he placed her on the bed as Merle hurriedly covered the window with heavy blankets before daring to light the room. Briefly wondering how long they were going to have electricity, Daryl turned on the bedside lamp, and he was finally able to take in the sight of his wife. She was ashen, her face the color of wet cement and slick with sweat and tears. Her once vibrant blue eyes stared at him dully from deep within sunken sockets. Her black hair was matted, crusted from lying in her own blood. This all contrasted violently with the ruby red blood that stained her yellow sundress. Her shoulder indeed bore the wound, a mangled bite that had torn through muscle down to the bone. Blood still dribbled from it.

Daryl couldn't look back into her eyes. He couldn't let her see the despair in his own. Instead he focused on the task at hand and grabbed one of his shirts from the open suitcase on the bed.

"I'm sorry, baby," He said before pressing the shirt into the wound. To his surprise, she only released a small gasp. She should've shrieked in agony. Taking advantage of whatever shock she was in, he pressed harder and she gave no further reaction. Merle stood in the doorway watching, and offering no assistance.

"Get some water, would ya?" He said distractedly, "And the First Aid kit in the bathroom."

"Daryl, why don't ya come out here for a sec—"

"_Now_, goddamnit!" Daryl roared. Gina let out a choked sob, and absently brushed at her husband's hands while she gazed up at the ceiling. His brother grunted in response before disappearing from sight.

Daryl returned focus to his wife. Already the shirt was soaked through. He tossed it to the floor where it landed with the slapping noise of a wet dishrag before grabbing another shirt. Without hesitation he pressed it into the wound. This time she seemed to feel it and she cried out, grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"I know, baby," He tried to whisper comfortingly, "I know." It didn't come out as confident as he would have liked. The pain seemed to jolt her back to reality and she concentrated her wet eyes on him. Hesitantly, he matched her gaze and saw his own fear reflected in her eyes.

"Daryl," Tears dribbled over and slid down her pale cheeks, "It was so stupid, Daryl. I just wanted to let Buck out. He kept pacing the door. It was still light out," Her lip trembled as she tried to stay focused, "It came up behind me. Buck didn't even see it at first. It bit me, then Buck attacked it. I dunno what happened after that, I just tried to make it back inside."

He wasn't sure what to say. If the dog was in this very room he would turn around and shoot it. It was the damn dog's fault. No…he should've let him out before he left. Then this never would've happened. It was _his_ fault. It was like she could read his mind and the smallest of a smile turned the corner of her mouth.

"Get that look off your face, Mister Dixon. You're the survivor. Not me. You're the one meant to get through this," He looked away, but her hand let go of his collar and took a hold of his face, bringing his gaze back to her, "I didn't really think I would get too far. Certainly not to the ocean." Her expression creased as a sudden pain rippled through her. Her breaths came rapidly and Daryl put a hand to her forehead. The heat coming off her was so shocking he took his hand away as if he'd been burnt.

Merle cleared his throat from the hallway and stepped in with a bowl of water, towels and the white First Aid kit. He placed the items on the nightstand before backing out into the shadows once more. Daryl soaked a washcloth and laid it on her forehead. He then took a towel and went to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. In the back of his mind, he knew it was a useless effort. But he continued anyway. He would have his wife's last hours as comfortable as he could make them. As he worked, she slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time she woke, she was in a different state: calm or panicked, confused or lucid. When he was finished, she finally seemed to fall into a fitful sleep.

He quietly went downstairs into the kitchen and stood over the sink, washing his hands and arms where her blood had smeared onto him.

"She's finally asleep." He murmured. Merle merely grunted in response. In the dim light of the single light bulb in the room, he watched the brownish red clouds swirl down the drain. Merle sat at the kitchen table, a pile of sunflower seeds in front of him and empty casings lay wherever he spat them. Drying his hands, Daryl sat heavily into the chair across from him. They sat in silence for some time, the only sound the occasional spitting of casings from Merle.

Finally, Merle sighed deeply. "I found the walker outside. It was eatin' your dog. I put it down," He stared at his brother, who wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry, man."

Daryl locked his jaw, determined not to cry in front of his brother. "She ain't dead yet, Merle."

His brother scoffed mirthlessly as he popped another seed in his mouth. "Might as well be."

Daryl glared at his brother. He wanted to clamber across the table and strangle the life out of him until his eyes popped. Instead, he clenched his fists and looked away. "I'm gonna take care of her till she..." He bit back the sob in his throat and gesticulated with his hand as he searched for the word he didn't want to say, "till she…passes. Then I'll—I'll take care of her." He didn't know any other way to put it. He couldn't bring himself to say he would shoot her in the head, to make sure she didn't turn. He still couldn't believe it. Not two hours ago he had been certain they would all be on the road by now. Headed for the sea. Now here he was. Hours from burying his wife.

Merle coughed as if to get his attention and crossed his arms on the table. He had that look on his face that Daryl hated. It always meant that he was about to point out a flaw in his plan. But this was different. He saw a darkness behind his brother's eyes. For a moment, he didn't want to know what he was going to reveal to him.

"Daryl, it's not just her you have to worry about. I've been thinkin' about…you know, the kid."

The shock of the entire situation had nearly wiped all concern for his child from his consciousness. Daryl sucked in a breath. His son. His child. The _kid_. The kid _inside_ her. Sharing the same blood, the same _everything_ with her. The poison. Merle didn't have to elaborate and he knew it. Once he saw his little brother's face, he knew it. Daryl started to breathe heavily.

"I'll need to—to take care of him too." Daryl stood suddenly, the chair falling over from the movement, "No. No, wait, I can get him out, before she passes. Merle, we've done c-sections on cows before, we can cut him out."

Merle stared at him like he'd gone insane. "And what, lil' brother? The kid's been poisoned same as her. He's gonna turn."

"We don't know that for sure. He's not wounded, you have to have a wound—"

"Yeah, for the poison to get in. He's already infected from Gina. He probably has the fever too."

Daryl felt defeated by his brother's words. He backed up and leaned against the wall, staring past his brother at the boarded up window behind his head. So what would they do? Wait until she dies, the baby would die shortly after that. Put a bullet in her brain, then cut his son out and put a bullet through his head? Daryl felt the contents of his stomach rising and he barely got to the sink in time. He vomited into the basin for several minutes until he had nothing left. With a shaking hand, he turned on the faucet and watched as the physical representation of his utter disgust and sorrow washed down the drain. And then it came. Before he could even think of stopping it, it came. The tears sprung from his eyes followed closely by a strangled sob. His hands clamped down on the edge of the counter as he felt the muscles in his legs weaken. They finally gave and he sank to his knees as another sob escaped him. Slowly he turned around and collapsed to the floor. The tears flowed freely as he cradled his head in his hands. He sat there, crying as he'd never cried in his life. He released howls of frustration and agony in between the weeping, punching his elbows into the cabinets behind him until he felt blood. Until he was sure ever walker in the county could hear him.

Merle remained at the table, arms crossed, looking down at the floor. He knew what he had to do. Slowly, he rose from his chair and entered the hallway. He spotted where he left his shotgun lying against the wall. He grabbed it and silently made his way to the staircase. He made it to the top of the landing. The glow of the bedroom light shown under the door. He opened it quietly as he could. There she was. She was asleep, but having spasms. The cold compress had fallen to the floor. She pulled at the material of her dress. Her hands kept moving to her pregnant belly, pressing on it, and her back would arch as she whimpered with pain. He walked up to the bed and looked down at Gina. She was a real sweet thing. Beautiful. She had been good for his little brother. Hell of a way for things to end.

With a sigh, he racked the shotgun and the sound seemed so loud. It even stirred her a bit and her eyelids fluttered open. Her milky blue eyes settled on him.

"Daryl?" She uttered. "Daryl, baby, I think I've got the flu."

Merle bit the inside of his cheek as he aimed the butt of the shotgun against her skull. She didn't even notice. "You been a good girl, Gina. I'm sorry, darlin'." She merely whimpered in response as his finger slid over the trigger.

Hands grabbed the back of his shirt. Daryl pulled him and slammed him against the wall, landing the biggest blow into his face that he ever thought possible and his head hit the wall hard enough for him to see stars. The strike took Merle off guard and he shook his head, seeing double until he could make out Daryl's enraged face in front of him. His little brother had his shirt gripped in his fists and he shook him.

"What the _fuck_ you doin', Merle?" He bellowed.

Gina released a scream, like a child, and gripped the bed sheets, seemingly reacting only to the noise, not the fact that a gun had just been pressed to her head.

Merle let the shotgun slide down and he laid it against the wall behind him, then raised both his hands in surrender. "You can't do this, lil' brother. You shouldn't do this."

Merle could see the red in his brother's eyes. The absolute rage in his face. And for a moment, for the first time in their lives, he was afraid of him.

Daryl's voice shuddered with anger as he spoke. "They're _my_ family, Merle. _I'll_ take care of 'em." He shoved him against the wall again to emphasize his words.

"Okay, okay, take it easy there, lil' brother." He tried to force a little smile on his face, "I got the message."

Slowly, Daryl released his shirt, the material wrinkled under the force of his hands. He nodded to the door. "Get out." Gina thrashed in the bed, her legs getting tangled in the sheets. Her yelling quickly died down to her feverish whimpers. Daryl picked up the compress, soaking it once more and laid it gently on her forehead. She calmed at the touch and laid mostly still, though her breathing was rapid. Merle backed out of the room to the staircase, watching his little brother tend to the woman who was already dead. Her brain being eaten away by the infection. He shook his head and descended the staircase. Daryl would call on him when he needed him. And he would be there for him. Just like always.

Daryl tried to pull the sheet up around her but she wasn't having it. She kicked it off, crying out as she did so. Frustrated, he tossed the sheet to the floor, then inspected her bandage. It was soaked through. Sighing, he carefully pulled it off. She protested and tried to push him away.

"Baby, stop it, I'm just tryin' to help you." He whispered it, hoping his voice would calm her. It helped and she stopped thrashing. "Thatta girl. Lemme just clean this up, get a new bandage on."

Her breaths came rapidly as he worked and she whined as he worked on her. He just kept talking to her. "Hey, you remember our first anniversary?" He dabbed at the wound with more antiseptic, knowing full well that he was wasting medical supplies that he could have use for in the future. He didn't much care. He was tending to his wife. "I had finally scraped enough money together to get us to that cabin?" He smiled at the memory. She didn't. She moaned as she looked at him with her diseased-looking eyes. "Man, I was so excited to give you a nice romantic weekend. I could finally give you a honeymoon. And, damn, we opened that door and the place was a piece of shit. Fridge didn't work. Air conditioning was out. Bed had stains on it. Damn. But we made the best of it didn't we?" Her brow creased as she studied him. Could she understand him? Did she even know him anymore? He put a new bandage on her wound and pushed the hair out of her face. She closed her eyes at his touch and a certain peace seemed to come over her features.

"It's just not fair, is it, baby?" He whispered. "We got so little time together. We were supposed to grow old and sit on the porch swing and watch those sunsets." Tears threatened him again and he let his eyes get moist. Even let a few tears run down his cheeks and get lost in his beard. He wiped at them with the back of his hand and sniffed. She opened her milky eyes again and seemed to look through him. He knew she was going soon. He had to say goodbye.

He moved down her torso and to her belly, where the kicks from his son had stopped. Perhaps he was even already dead. He kissed her belly. "I was lookin' forward to meetin' you, lil' man. I'll see you on the other side, kay?" He rubbed her belly the way he did every night before they went to bed.

He moved back up to her face and leaned down to kiss her parted lips. If he used his imagination, he thought he felt her lips kiss him back. He bit back another sob, letting his head fall to her rapidly moving chest. He could hear her heart beating like a hummingbird under his ear. "I love you, Gina. I could never love anyone else like I've loved you."

He moved to the other side of the bed, climbed in and pulled her against him. He kept a hand on her belly as he watched her struggle for every breath. He buried his face into her neck and listened as she wheezed, fighting and clinging to the last shred of life. And sometime in the night, she finally let go. When dawn approached, Daryl finally felt for her pulse after watching her for some time, knowing that she had died a while ago. He felt nothing, as he expected.

Swallowing back every emotion coursing through him, he got up from the bed and retrieved the loaded .38 revolver from her nightstand. The gun he'd gotten for her. It wouldn't make much mess. He stared at his dead wife for a moment longer.

"Keep an eye on me, Gina," He murmured, "You were always good at that." He pulled back the hammer of the gun and pressed it to her skull. Before he lost his nerve, he squeezed the trigger. Her body jolted from the impact. And it was over. He let the gun fall from his hand and didn't even hear it clatter to the floor. In that moment, he felt something change him. A switch pressed. His duties as a husband and father, that shell, shattered and fell away. In its place, an armor passed over him. He realized he had nothing to live for. And nothing to lose.

Stiffly, he turned around. His brother stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as much of a look of sympathy as was possible for Merle Dixon to conjure up. Daryl ignored it.

"We'll make a pyre." He didn't recognize his own voice, "I figure a good fire will be enough to take care of the, well, you know."

Merle nodded. "That's fine, but, why did you bother with the revolver?"

Daryl glanced down at the fallen weapon. "It's the way she would've wanted to be put down. I was with her."

They spent the morning in silence gathering wood to make her funeral pyre. Once constructed, he placed her gently upon it. Merle soaked the entire thing in gasoline and lit the match. They watched until the fire died out and made sure her body was reduced to ash and bone. The brothers finished packing up provisions and luggage, and drove away. They left the little yellow house, with its crooked mailbox and vines of morning glories. They left the place where once a man and a woman had dreams of sitting on the porch and watching the sunset.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are appreciated :)

Sancti


End file.
